


And then the Darkness Fell on Us

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Children, First Meetings, Gen, Introspection, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: Draco was the only one allowed to make the rules. Even when he shouldn't.





	And then the Darkness Fell on Us

**_No more fears_ **

 

Can you remember?

The house was wrapped up in the darkness of the night, enveloped in a thick fog.

It frightened you, but you tried not to show it.

It taught you not to fear a thing, but to _be_ fear.

Your father held you by the hand, like an automatic gesture, yanking you.

You didn’t feel like going in, and yet you followed him, because you weren’t allowed to complain, to stomp your feet, to tell you wanted to go back home.

You couldn’t.

And so you went in, you laid your eyes on that kid, half-hidden behind his father’s legs.

He was tiny, much more than you, and you wanted to laugh thinking you could’ve seriously hurt him if you wanted to. And you felt like it when you saw his conceited look, his eyes darting on you and your father with a sense of superiority.

You bit your lip, and any form of hilarity disappeared.

“Daddy, I...” you started saying with your ridiculous childish voice, but he interrupted you.

“I’ve got to speak with Lucius, Vincent. You and Draco can wait here, the Goyles are going to join us in a little while. You do remember Gregory, don’t you?” his fake smile, mixed with his tired voice, gave you a fair warning.

He meant ‘Don’t make a mess, Vincent.’. ‘Don’t be stupid as usual, Vincent’.

You nodded, sad.

Of course, you remembered Gregory. You liked him, he reminded you of yourself.

And, that night, you kept quiet until he arrived. He smiled while waving to you, and then he looked hesitantly at Draco.

You kept still, sitting on those elegant couches you weren’t used to. No one had the slightest intention of making the first move, like you were just having fun sitting still, silent, in the darkness of that room that kept getting scarier and scarier.

“Do you want to play?” you finally asked the blond, your voice low, barely audible.

He looked at you, raised an eyebrow like he was evaluating the length of the line between his boredom and the idea of spending time with you, so unfitting for him.

In the end he shrugged, and pointed upstairs.

“Let’s play.” he conceded, haughty. You and Gregory followed him up the stairs, quiet and uncomfortable. All of a sudden, half the stairs behind you, Draco turned to face you.

“But I make up the rules, do you understand?” he hissed. The two of you nodded, and Gregory looked at you, as to ask you let it go.

Time flew by, you were so taken that you had soon forgotten Malfoy’s command, you forgot how his glances had made you feel, and how you didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

On that moment, you just knew a light had sparked, in the middle of that darkness.

That, with the two of them, you were a little less scared.

 

**_The Grudge_ **

****

“We always do what you ask, we just want to know what the bloody hell you’ve got your mind to do.” you told him, angry.

Things were changing and you, as stupid as you thought you were, could see that clearly.

He blabbered some meaningless words, hissing that you were just supposed to follow his orders.

And so the two of you spent countless hours on that always, pretending to be little girls, hating yourselves for what you were doing, but always thinking that the cause was a rightful one.

And not for a Mark burned on his skin, for that invisible sign that made you equals, but for something that eluded sight itself. For that strange form of friendship, incomprehensible, born years before, and that up until now you could never discuss. Until the grudge you felt toward Draco, that this year was friend only to himself, had overtaken you.

Because you and Vincent were tired, so tired.

Since the day you’ve met, you did nothing but tailing him. Doing everything for him, covering him, sharing every little thing.

Until you had convinced yourselves that the foundation of your relationship was sincere, that your friendship with Draco was equal to the one the two of you shared.

You weren’t so sure anymore.

Vince kept saying it was a phase, that his mission belonged only to him and to the Dark Lord. He persisted thinking that you should just be alright with it, blindly, without knowing what he was actually doing.

While you started feeling that sharp resentment toward Draco, like you blamed him for abandoning you.

That cursed year had left his marks on all of you, and you regretted those moments spent in the Common room, tormenting some random unprepared first year or listening to Draco’s self-celebration, only to laugh about it with Vince, from time to time.

There was nothing left to laugh about, just the sad faces on you and the dark circles under Draco’s eyes.

You would’ve also turned that resentment into a deep hatred, if only you hadn’t read the suffering into those eyes.

You were just an idiot, Gregory.

And yet, even idiots are allowed to see their friends suffering.

And after all, you had to admit to yourself that Draco was still a friend.

In his own way, as usual.

 

**_Your hand, please_ **

****

_Give me your hand, come on._

You were thinking it so intently that at some point you felt like your brain was going to burst.

Burst out of spontaneous combustion, like the Fiendfyre.

Cursed. Like Vincent, right?

Even at this time, you couldn’t help but think that your opinion on him had always been right.

Idiot, idiot, _idiot._

An idiot convinced the world was at his feet, without seeing that the very same world was devouring him.

And you, what did you do?

You kept looking the slaughter of mankind, that was fading slowly but inexorably. You watched, opening your eyes wide, at times showing indifference, and you never acted.

And Vincent was dying, locked for eternity in that coffin made out of flames.

You looked at Gregory, hoping in vain that he would never wake up, that we didn’t find out what had happened. Better, you would’ve kept him company on that unnatural sleep, so that all three of you were allowed to rest, together.

The passed out, the dead and the spoiled brat, who turned out to be the dumbest out of the three.

The stupid who didn’t trust his friends. The idiot, convinced he could go on alone, that he didn’t need anyone beside him, that he needed to look for redemption on his own.

So you have forsaken them to themselves, like you’re now forsaking Vincent inside that macabre contingent of Hell.

You wanted to see his hand among the flames. Plump, inexpert, pushed out toward you, begging. Like his face, when he realized he was in trap.

You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but you knew all too well that if he were in front of you right now you could’ve never find the strength to actually do it.

That absurd longing for dignity kept lingering inside you, it didn’t allow you to make a sound, but it wasn’t strong enough to suffocate your thoughts.

Because you weren’t so stupid as to not understand that war meant death; just, nobody ever told you that death would’ve come so close to you as to touch you, that you were going to smell its sharp scent, that you would’ve seen its destruction taking place under you own eyes.

“The... hand.” you mumbled, collapsing on the cold floor. The relief of that cold, that tore you away from the flames. And from the hope of seeing Vincent alive.

Nobody noticed you, like you were trash. And you couldn’t deny it, you were. You dragged yourself close to Goyle, looking on his weirdly peaceful face some traces of a friendship now maimed.

He slept.

You leant on the rough stone wall, scratching your skin, and you briefly closed your eyes.

You were hoping you weren’t forced to open them again, and yet the images made from your mind obligated you to.

A hand, without a body, was chasing after you, like it wanted to catch you.

You felt like crying.

But there would’ve been a time for tears, you told yourself.

And when that time would’ve come, you wouldn’t have the courage to cry anymore.

“Farewell, Vince.” you whispered. And then, nothing more.


End file.
